


and all the bitter moments till then

by eruthiel



Category: The Great Race (1965)
Genre: Cigars, Closeted Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Secret Relationship, Slapstick, Smoking, Snow and Ice, Talking, Women's Rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthiel/pseuds/eruthiel
Summary: stranded with three unmarried men and nothing to do except TALK to them about their FEELINGS
Relationships: Professor Fate/Max Meen, The Great Leslie/Maggie Dubois
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	and all the bitter moments till then

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Till The Bitter End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiG2AxLbegM) by The Magnetic Fields. I hope you enjoy :)

Maggie leaves Leslie sulking in his glorified golf cart and stomps out onto the ice. Through the window of the Hannibal Twin-8 she can see Fate sleeping with his top hat pulled down over his eyes. She circles around it to find Max sitting alone on the edge of the floe, fishing.

When she hitches up her skirts and sits down beside him, he acknowledges her with a grunt, then turns his attention back to the line. Looking closer, she realises he's using a small bronze gear for bait. She nudges him and asks, "What are you hoping to catch with that?"

"Fish."

"Do the fish in this part of the world enjoy eating old car parts?"

"It's all I got. The professor told me to stop wasting food for bait."

"Well, he's probably right. It's not like you were catching anything before."

Maggie reaches into her coat and pulls out her last cigar. Max does a double-take as she lights it. "What's that?"

"A giraffe."

He doesn't laugh. "I thought we were all out of cigars."

Tucking away her lighter, she gives him a knowing smile. "We will be, after this one. I was saving it for..." She brings the cigar up to her mouth, closes her eyes, and takes a long drag. The exhale turns into a sigh. "I had this silly notion about sharing it with Leslie, if he finally puts his head between his ears. But when he's like this, I wonder if I'm not wasting my time on him."

Max grunts again and looks sidelong at the cigar. Deciding just this once to indulge a feminine weakness, namely a certain protective instinct towards the pitiful little creatures of the world, Maggie proffers it to him.

He stares at her for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open, before accepting it with a small nod. Still gripping the makeshift fishing rod in one hand, he takes a drag. Some of the tension in his shoulders goes away at once. The lines disappear from between his eyebrows. He passes the cigar back and mutters, "What's that all about, then?"

"What's what?"

"You and Leslie," he says, "it don't make sense to me. Sometimes it seems like you really like him and you wanna, y'know... the next minute it's like you can't stand him." He pauses. "Does he change that often, or is it you who changes, or what is it?"

Maggie stares out at the ocean ahead of her. White smoke coils over the cold blue water, shifting slowly in the cold blue air. She shakes her head. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Well. Men and women... it's only ever simple when people are simple. And we're only simple when we let ourselves be simplified into these little boxes, these little scripts of how we're supposed to treat each other. You see?"

He looks at her stupidly. She sighs. "If I allowed him to consume me, subsume me, the way men have always subsumed women... if I gave up my ambitions, my opinions, my independence... if I gave up on being Maggie Dubois and settled for being Mrs The Great Leslie. That's the only way it could be made simple."

"Then why don't you do that?"

She scoffs and passes him the cigar again. "You wouldn't dare ask me that if I were a man."

"I might."

"Don't be ridiculous. What man in the world would submit to that kind of degradation? How would _you_ feel about giving up your identity to become a mere appendage, an extension of... someone else..."

She trails off. He's chewing the cigar, looking at her with a blank expression. She titters politely. "Well, anyway. A life of selfless devotion might be fine for some people, men or women. I suppose that's none of my business. But it is not for me, you understand? I will never submit myself to a man's will, and he's got far too much of it. That is why things must always be complicated between me and Leslie."

Max shrugs and goes to return the cigar. He fumbles in the cold, almost drops his fishing rod, ends up dropping the cigar instead. It hits the water with a splash.

"Oh!"

"I got it! I got it!"

He plunges his entire arm into the ice water; Maggie wrenches it out. "Max, stop! You'll catch your death! It's no good now anyway!"

The cigar bobs beneath the ice and disappears. Maggie lets out a disappointed moan. Max flinches, wrapping his soaked arm across his chest. His eye flickers to the Hannibal, but there's no sign of movement from either car.

Silence falls again as Maggie flicks the ice off her gloves and takes in the man fidgeting and twitching beside her. "Max..." she murmurs, "settle down."

"Hmm?"

"Nobody's going to hit you."

He jerks his head at her. "I wouldn't let you hit me."

"No," she says patiently, "I know."

"It's not my fault," he mutters, and gestures to his eye. "I can only see one thing at a time."

"I wanted to ask about that, but I didn't want to be rude. What happened to it?"

"Oh, there was this explosion. That time it was my fault. That's how come I was out of work, see, and nobody would give me a proper job -- until the professor. Look, still got the scar, see that?"

With one gloved finger, he traces a faint scar up past his right eyebrow. Maggie nods. "Gosh," she says, "if anything, it's amazing that you don't have a lot more."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, you've been in so many accidents, just in the time I've known you. You and Fate, you both should have fallen apart long ago, but here you are. Both as handsome as ever."

Despite his obvious distrust, he can't help taking the compliment. Glowing pink in the cold, he picks up his discarded fishing rod and dandles it in the water as if he really expects to catch a fish.

Handsome enough in the face, him and his master, but nothing like Leslie. Maggie thinks about Leslie, who would not have dropped the cigar in the water. He would have handed it back without breaking eye contact, and his hand would have brushed hers, just for a moment, and she would have returned it to him after one quick drag just to see him hold it again -- just to enjoy how he looked with a cigar between his fingers, between his lips.

She traces patterns in the snow on her velvet stockings and thinks about herself in white: in a white wedding dress; in a white sweater like his, a matching white skirt and shoes. A big capital letter L on her chest, a banner with his name over her head. Push the button, Maggie! She shudders.

"Max," she says.

"Mm?"

"How long have you and Fate been... how long have you worked for him?"

"'Bout twenty years. Why?"

"Just wondering."

He squints at her. "You're not trying to spy on us for Leslie, are you?"

"No!"

"Not gonna write down everything I say and send it off with one of your dumb birds, either?"

"They're not dumb. And no, I promise you, nobody back home is interested in publishing your life story. I'm really just curious." She smiles sweetly. "I only just realised that I don't actually know a single thing about you, outside of your working for the professor."

He looks at her, then down at the water, then up at the sky, then back at her again. "I don't think there is anything else about me."

She laughs tightly. "That can't be true. What did you do before you met him?"

"Not much." He avoids her gaze. "I was a mechanic’s assistant in the city for a while."

"Well, that’s something."

"Not really. I can't remember any of it now, anything before..." He mimes an explosion with his free hand. "Kaboom."

"Well, what do you do on your days off?"

"I don't have days off."

"I'm sure that's illegal. You're probably being exploited there. How much does he pay you?"

"Uh, nothing."

Her jaw drops. "He doesn't pay you? Max, that's definitely illegal! He's not allowed to make you work for no pay!"

Max blinks slowly. "He doesn't make me," he says, sounding wounded. "Anyway, we live together, y'know, we do everything together. He provides for me. Gives me expenses when I need 'em. So what would I even want money for?"

"I don't know," she waves her hands, "maybe to build some inventions for yourself? Buy some clothes that _you_ like? Find a nemesis of your own, spend a little time trying to foil them, instead of running around after Leslie every day just because Fate says so?"

"But I don't _want_ to do any of that. I _want_ to run around after Leslie because Fate says so."

"I see. And if Fate told you to jump off a cliff, would you do that too?"

"Yeah," he says, like it's nothing. "Listen, lady, I'm not smart. I don't know if you know this, but I'm actually very stupid. The professor, he's a genius. He's the greatest genius who ever lived. So if he tells me to jump off a cliff, even if I don't understand why, I'm gonna trust his brain over mine every time, and I'm gonna jump off that cliff. You follow?"

Maggie frowns. "I don't think you're _that_ stupid."

"Ask the professor when he wakes up, he'll tell you."

"Well, even if you were, that shouldn't prevent you from making your own decisions," Maggie pushes on. "I'm a suffragette. You know what that means? I'm trying to emancipate myself. I fight every day for the right to have my own life, my own career, my own dreams."

"Sure," he growls, with the same enthusiasm she's come to expect from men on this subject. "Whatever."

"But you're a man, Max. You don't have to fight; you already have the right to those things. You don't have to follow Fate around like a lovesick puppy while he screams and belts you over every little thing. You're not _actually_ his wife. You could be anything, go anywhere. Achieve something in your own right."

"You trying to emancipate me?"

"Why not? You don't really want to spend your whole life propping up his glory, do you, never getting any of the credit?"

Max rolls his eye. "You're not getting this, are you?"

Maggie sighs. "No, I guess I'm not."

"Well, you don't have to get it." He looks stubbornly down at his fishing rod, the gear bobbing hopefully in the empty water. "Me and the professor, that's our business, nobody else's. Nobody gets it, but nobody's gotta get it, so who cares."

"I care," she says softly. "I want to understand. You do love him, don't you?"

That makes him shuffle in place and adjust his hat. "I dunno what you're getting at," he says.

"Well," she gestures around, "you've followed him more or less to the ends of the Earth. For no money."

"Yeah?"

"And you have no regrets, no doubts."

"Nope."

"Even if you end up dying out here?"

"I mean, I don't much wanna die. But yeah, I'd still rather be wherever the prof is. Ice, storms, explosions, dying... I'd still rather be there. So I guess you can call that whatever you want."

"I would call it love." Maggie sadly brushes the snow from her stockings. "I'm not sure that he loves you back, Max."

Max is silent for so long that she starts to think he didn't hear, or is pretending not to hear. Just as she opens her mouth to try something else, he repeats, "You don't get it."

"No," Maggie admits, "I don't." In the pause that follows, she decides to stop dancing around the subject and just ask him. She cocks her head casually to one side: "How long have the two of you been physically intimate?"

Max puts the fishing rod aside and stands up. Maggie tries to pull him back down by his coat. "Max," she pleads, "I'm sorry. Forget I said that, please?"

"Nosy reporter." He spits into the water. "You mind your business, you hear me?"

"I'm sorry. I was just curious. It doesn't bother me, truly, it doesn't. I'm a very forward-thinking woman. And the four of us living together like this, these past few weeks, it would've been impossible not to notice..."

"You didn't notice nothing," Max snaps. "Dumb broad. I don't wanna be emancipated and I don't wanna talk about this no more. Hey, Professor!" He slips and slides over the ice, up to the door of the Hannibal. "Wake up, Professor, it's almost dinner time!"

Maggie wobbles to her feet and watches as Fate emerges blearily from beneath his top hat. He wipes the sleep from his eyes with one hand and grabs Max's collar in the other, pulling him close. "What do you mean, 'almost'?" he barks. "Is it dinner time or isn't it?"

"Uh..." Max teeters, half-in and half-out of the car. "Well, we're supposed to eat in about half an hour, so..."

"So what?" Fate yells. "What do I need half an hour for? To get changed into evening wear, to wash my hair, to brush up on my _cold beans ettiquette?"_

"I'm sorry, Professor. You go back to sleep, I'll wake you up when the food's ready."

"It's too late now, you simpering idiot. I'm awake, I'm awake!" Fate shoves Max away, sending him sprawling on his back. "I was having a wonderful dream about a three cheese omelet, but oh, at least I've got half an hour to get ready for yet another depressing meal out of a can!"

While Fate rants, Maggie strolls over and puts her hands under Max's armpits to pull him off the ice. He scrambles upright before clumsily pushing her away. She sighs and circles back around to the Leslie Special, leaving the two men to bicker. _Who's the dumb broad now,_ she thinks.

She opens the door and slides in next to Leslie, who looks up from his logbook. "Come crawling back already, have you?" he teases.

"I don't exactly have anywhere else to go."

The corners of his mouth twitch back as the shouting outside grows to a roar. "You could stay out there with the Fates," he suggests. "Or would that be... a _Fate_ worse than death?" His face falls again when she doesn't respond. "What's the matter, Miss Dubois? Too good for my one-liners now?"

"It's not that," Maggie hums. "I was just thinking about what you said, about Hezekiah."

"Oh, you’re not still sore about that, are you?" He snaps the logbook shut and lays it across his knees. "Look, I didn’t mean that I don’t want you here. But his particular skillset _would_ be more useful in this situation, so if I were to make a rational choice between the two of you..."

"No, I know."

"You shouldn’t be so sensitive."

"Leslie, I wasn’t bringing it up to start another row. I’m just curious about him."

"Oh, yes?"

"Well, for instance. What did he do before he worked for you?"

"He was a soldier. He distinguished himself in various armies. You should ask him about it, if we ever see him again, but make sure you've cleared a few hours in your diary first."

"I'll try to remember," says Maggie. "And do you give him time off?"

"Of course! He goes hiking. Loves to hike." Leslie chuckles. "I tag along about once a year, but it’s not really my scene. I’ve never seen the sense in doing something exhausting and dangerous when there’s nobody around to watch."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Come on, what’s with all the questions? You’re not going to say you wish Hezekiah were here instead of _me,_ are you?"

"Hmm." Maggie smirks. "No, not quite."

They’re pressed close in the car, but he still manages to sidle closer. He wraps an arm around her shoulder. "And what is it that tips the scales in my favour, exactly?"

"Well." She drops her voice and her eyelashes. "I don't think anyone would argue with me if I said that you're a little easier on the eyes."

Leslie purrs. "Glad to hear you admit it." His other hand slides slowly up her coat, coming to rest just over her heart. His face hovers close to hers for a moment. Then the tiniest of furrows appears on his brow. "Have you been smoking?"

Instead of answering, Maggie kisses him -- softly, politely, but it's enough of a distraction for now. They sit like that, barely moving, for a long and glorious age before she pulls away. "Now, mark a point in my favour," she breathes against his ear; "you couldn’t do this with Hezekiah."

Leslie's laugh is soft and warm. "True. I’ve got to give you the advantage there. It's a shame, really..."

"What do you mean?"

"If I had any sense, I would be a fruit," he smirks, nodding towards the Hannibal. "Then I could get all the comforts of a girl and all the utility of a man in one package. Best of both worlds."

"Charming."

"I'm serious! Fate's got it all figured out, I'm telling you. A normal man would have to hire a boy and marry a girl to do all that between them. His only mistake was choosing Max. I would be more judicious."

"If you were a homosexual."

"If I were so blessed, yes."

Maggie arches an eyebrow. "And when you’d chosen him, this best of both worlds, would you hire him? Or would you marry him?"

Leslie gives it some serious thought. "I’d marry him, I suppose. Easier that way."

"That’s what I thought you’d say. Because men have to treat their staff better than they have to treat their wives, don’t they? Most men treat their wives... well, like that." She echoes his nod towards the Hannibal.

From outside, there's the familiar splash and howl for Max that indicates Fate's taken yet another dive into the water. Leslie waits for the racket to subside before issuing his rebuttal. "I think you're making unfair generalisations again," he chides. "Most of the married men that I know are perfectly decent to their wives."

"And you would be the most decent of all, I suppose."

"Of course! Unless I accidentally married someone like Max. I think a few years of that would drive any man to violence. But, as I say, I would never make that mistake in the first place."

"Well, be careful. There's no shortage of girls like Max out there. One day one of them will latch herself onto your heel and if you don't shake her off, I'm going to do it for you."

He laughs. "Don't worry, Miss Dubois. I've liberated more girls from my heels than you'll ever liberate from the kitchen sink."

"I don't doubt it. Now, kindly liberate your hand from my breast." She pushes him off, gently, and clambers towards the door. "I do like you, Mr Leslie, but speaking of homosexuals, there's something about you that makes me yearn for their company."

Back out on the ice, after the faint but persistent perfume of the Leslie Special, the air is cold and fresh and wonderful. Maggie fills her lungs while Leslie climbs out of the car behind her. They stand side by side, both rubbing their hands together for warmth, and survey the scene.

Fate, still dripping wet, has somehow managed to get his tongue stuck to the ice. He pushes himself up on his knees before they slip backwards, landing him hard on his stomach. He groans an incoherent curse while Max flaps anxiously about him. "Don't panic, Professor. Don't panic. We just gotta, uh... we just..."

"Oh, for goodness' sake," says Maggie. "Fate, if you ever want to shout at anyone again, do not move a muscle. Do not do anything. This won't take a moment."

Leslie climbs up on the roof of his car to watch. Max kneels beside his master, squeezing his hand, mumbling encouragement. Maggie ducks inside to grab what she needs, then sits beside Fate, setting the stove down in front of her. "Max," she says, handing him the pot, "get some water."

Max snatches the pot from her hand before she's even finished speaking and scrambles over to the edge of the floe. Maggie lights the stove.

Scarcely a minute later, she holds a pot of hot water over Fate's quivering tongue. "Now, Professor," she says calmly, "please continue to not panic. I'm just going to melt a little bit of the ice to get you free, okay?" He moans. "Be a good boy and hold still. I want to make sure it's properly melted before you try to move."

She pours a steady trickle of water over the frozen spot. Soon a depression forms in the ice, overflowing as it melts.

Fate pulls his head up, tentatively at first, then with triumph. "Ah-ha!" He sticks out his tongue and touches it to make sure it's all there. Max tries to touch it too, but Fate swats him away. "Free at last! That was the most nightmarish hour of my life!"

"You were only stuck for five minutes," says Max.

"Bravo," Leslie calls from the roof. "Three cheers for Miss Dubois."

"Look what you've done," Fate shoots in Maggie's direction, pointing at the puddle of melted ice. It's rapidly turning into a small hole. "You've hastened our destruction by days, maybe weeks! This ice is the only thing keeping us all from a watery tomb, and you're going around melting holes in it!"

Already packing up the stove, Maggie sends him a saccharine smile. "Alright. Next time I'll just leave you to rip your tongue out, shall I? Maybe then we would all get some peace around here."

"Doom! You are doom in a velvet dress, Dubois!"

She picks up the stove and pot and carries them back over to the Leslie Special. Leslie himself grins down at her from on high. "When you've had your fill of fruit," he says, "my offer still stands."

"What offer?" She deposits the stove and pot inside, then leans against the door, gazing up at him.

His teeth sparkle in the arctic sunlight. "My offer to you is whatever you want, Miss Dubois."

"I enjoy helping those less fortunate than myself," she retorts. "It's good for one's soul, you know, charity work."

"That's very noble. When am I going to be on the receiving end of some of this charity?"

"When you need it. Which will never happen, by all accounts, including your own."

Apparently he doesn't have a comeback for that, because he just puts his hands behind his head, closes his eyes, and lies back on the roof. Maggie watches him for a while before looking over at Team Fate.

They're trying to find a way to close up the hole in the ice. If they reverse the polarity of the Hannibal's nose cone, suggests Max, maybe they could make it run cold instead of hot. Shut up, Fate snarls -- but wait, he adds -- what if we tried reversing the polarity of the nose cone?! You're a genius, gushes Max, and he seems to mean it.

 _He can only see one thing at a time,_ Maggie thinks. He's staring at Fate, staring right at him with lopsided adoration. Maggie goes to fetch the can opener.

After dinner, the fog rolls in, and the sun starts to sink into the sea. Maggie sits alone in the Leslie Special, taking stock of their remaining supplies. Suddenly the door slams open and Fate appears, wedging himself into the seat beside her.

"Professor, be careful," she warns, pulling the cans out of his way. "What do you want? I'm busy."

"I'm hungry," he growls, pulling the door shut. "I couldn't eat properly at dinner. My tongue was too sore after your little stunt earlier."

"That is not--"

"So you should give me some extra food. Just a top-up. Come on, it's only fair."

"It is _not_ fair."

"Well, who ever said life was fair?"

Maggie rolls her eyes. "We are running dangerously low on supplies as it is. I think you should know that already."

"Don't be such a stubborn cow. Give it to me."

"Name-calling won't get you anywhere, Professor."

His reaction is something she's seen before, but never up close like this. She watches in slow-motion as he works himself up from a sulk into a full-blown rage, vibrating off the cramped walls and ceiling, his moustache trembling and eyebrows drawing in like battleships. "You lousy little gingersnap," he snarls. "You would give it to that prettyboy Leslie, if he asked you!"

"He wouldn't ask me," Maggie says firmly. "Whatever his faults, Mr Leslie is unselfish and fair-minded on the subject of rationing."

Fate mimics her in falsetto. _"Mr Leslie is so selfless and dreamy and wonderful,"_ he squeaks, _"tralala, I wish Mr Leslie would selflessly_ take _me in the back of his car..."_

Maggie gasps and smacks him on the shoulder. He raises a hand as if to strike her back, then lowers it just as quickly. She watches the transformation in reverse: with nowhere to go and no gas left in the tank, his anger drains quietly away.

After about ten seconds, he's left slack and empty. The two of them sit there in silence, not looking at each other. Eventually Maggie says: "The only way we're all going to get through this alive is by taking care of each other."

"Bah." Fate grumbles half-heartedly. "Is that what you were doing when you put the screws on Max earlier?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He tells me you've been asking him some very personal questions."

"Oh!" Maggie flutters her eyelashes innocently. "Have I? I thought we were just making friendly conversation. You know, since there's not much else to pass the time around here."

"Look, missy. I can tolerate this 'working together to stay alive' business if I absolutely must. But don't push your luck. We are not friends. I don't like you and I don't trust you."

"Maybe _you_ don't, but I think Max should get to make up his own mind."

Fate narrows his eyes. "Take it from me, Max doesn't like you either."

Maggie quirks an eyebrow. "What's the matter, Professor? Are you afraid he might like me more than he likes you? What if I really 'put the screws on him' someday, hmm?" She holds it for a few seconds before the look on his face forces her to break out into laughter. "Oh, Professor, calm down. I'm only teasing you."

"You are a very annoying young woman."

"And you're a very annoying old man."

Fate takes off his hat and rubs his forehead tiredly. "No more interrogating Max, alright? He's liable to become confused and say things he doesn't mean. I don't want you upsetting him."

"Yes, yes, fine. I was going to leave him alone anyway. But only because _he_ asked me to, not you, understand?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Maggie shakes her head at him. "For what it's worth," she says, "you should be the one talking to him. You're the one he likes. Would it kill you to simply take an interest in what's going on in his head?"

Fate scoffs. "Going on in his head? In Max's head? Do you hear yourself, Miss Dubois?"

"Just because he's a bit dim, that doesn't mean he doesn't have thoughts and feelings like the rest of us. You know that you're the whole world to him." She tilts her head knowingly. "And you might not be able to admit it, but you know that he's very important to you, too."

"... Mmm."

"He works hard for you. He risks his life for you! The least you can do is show him a little love and attention from time to time. That's my advice, and you can take it or leave it."

"Oh," Fate's eyebrows shoot up in mock-surprise, "I can take it or leave it, can I? I have your permission to ignore the advice of some passing lady-journalist about how to treat my own servants?"

"He's only a servant if you pay him."

"I wouldn't expect a woman to understand." Fate puts his hat back on and slumps down in the seat. "Here's some advice for you, Miss Dubois, since you've been so generous in dishing it out. Why don't you just give Leslie what he wants? If nothing else, you'd have less time to poke your nose into my business."

Now it's Maggie's turn to scoff. "Now, you look here. Being an emancipated woman doesn't mean that I simply jump into bed with every attractive man I meet."

"No, I can see that," he drawls. "It's some sexual liberation you've got there. You're the only female on a tiny island with three unmarried men and you're still not getting any."

"That's hardly accurate, either. I know perfectly well that you and Max are already accounted for."

"Oh, yes. Yes, Max did tell me you knew about that. In retrospect, we have been a little indiscreet." He clears his throat. "Now listen, here's the thing -- the thing about that is..."

"Yes, yes," Maggie interrupts, "you'll sue me if I publish. Please don't worry about it. I have no intention of telling anybody. What kind of hypocrite would that make me, hmm?"

Fate scowls and folds his arms. "I still don't have any reason to trust you."

"I know. But in this case, you're just going to have to."

There's a slightly-too-long pause before he speaks again. "Just... to set the record straight. Not that any of this is on the record." He clears his throat. "If you ever did decide to break your word... you would let it be known that it wasn't my fault, yes?"

"Your fault?"

"I mean, I didn't start it. I even gave him his own room, at the beginning! He was the one who would come crawling into my bed and beg me for it. I swear I'd never even been with a man before that."

"But Max had?"

"Plenty. He was pretty, and useless for anything else." Fate jerks a thumb towards the door. "Obviously none of this will ever come out. But, but, if it absolutely has to..."

"Yes, I understand quite well where you're trying to place the blame, thank you. Poor Max. After all those years of abject devotion, you'd really make him your fall guy."

"Oh, come on. He would thrive in prison. He's feisty."

Maggie puts on a patronising look. "Are you ashamed of what you are? You shouldn't feel ashamed. Well, you obviously should, for unrelated reasons, but not over this."

"Stop trying to talk to me about my feelings."

"I think you'd benefit from confronting them. For example, I'm sure most of your issues with Leslie could probably be resolved by just admitting that you’re attracted to him."

He spits the words out, one at a time, through clenched teeth. "How _dare_ you?"

"I mean it," she says. "I don’t think it would change his opinion of you at all. Who knows, he might even go to bed with you, if it meant you’d calm down and get out of his hair for a while."

"Every fibre of my being is repelled by the mere thought of it," says Fate, his pupils dilating wildly. "Absurd good looks and charm might appeal to a shallower, simpler -- shall we say -- a more feminine sort of appetite? But I am not so easily taken in! And I'm insulted by the suggestion that I would ever stoop to look at Leslie that way!"

"Right, of course. I should have known you have high standards, because you're sleeping with... hmm... Max."

"That's infinitely better than sleeping with Leslie!" Fate starts counting off on his fingers. "Max is loyal, he's obedient, he's wound up like a tiny dynamo. And after all these years he's still a damn sight prettier than you, my tight-corseted little friend."

Maggie feels her mocking smile turn genuine and soft. "Oh," she says. "So you do love him."

"Let's just say if we're forced to resort to cannibalism out here, I'm eating you and Leslie first."

"Does Max know that?"

"Of course he does."

Maggie nods slowly. "Could you tell him I'm sorry? For overstepping earlier. I think I frightened him. It wasn't my intention."

"I'll tell him, but it won't make him like you."

The two of them sit there in silence, listening to the ice creak below them. After a while they hear the lonely sound of the Hannibal's horn start up outside, its tragicomic honk breaking the peace every few seconds.

Fate sighs. "I suppose I should go..." Maggie mentally appends the unspoken 'to him.' "You will let me know if you change your mind about the food, won’t you? Think it over."

"I won’t," Maggie beams. "Go on, now. He’s waiting for you."

Like magic, the horn echoes her -- one long, four short: _I’m wait-ing for-you._

After a few tries, Fate gets the door open and heaves himself out onto the ice. He lands flat on his face. The horn goes silent. Maggie sits alone in the car, listening for a yell, but it doesn't come. She hears them talk quietly for a while, and then retire to the Hannibal together.

Maggie isn't alone for long before Leslie's head appears through the open door. "Room for one more?"

She makes a big show of looking around the empty car before shaking her head apologetically. "I’m afraid not," she says, "we’re all full up for the night. You’ll have to sleep in the yard."

"Oh, dear. But your yard is awfully cold and slippery."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you should have booked ahead."

"There's also a couple of chaps canoodling out here, and I'm afraid I'm about to become an unwilling voyeur."

"Well, in that case, you'd better come inside."

She holds up the blanket and welcomes him under. They giggle as they pull it over their heads, closing their warm cocoon around them and hiding in the heat of each other's bodies.

"Are they really?" Maggie whispers.

"Not tonight," Leslie whispers back. The glint of his teeth is all that's visible in the dark. "They went straight to sleep. Max is drooling on Fate's coat."

Maggie laughs. "Can you imagine us like that?"

"Married, you mean? Well, I don't think it's entirely beyond the bounds of possibility, but I wouldn't put money on it."

"Better or worse than their odds of winning the race?"

"Oh, that's a difficult one. Marginally better, I'd say. But it's a very, very low bar."

"Aw, well. At least they'll be able to commiserate together."

"Yes, I'm sure they'll spend many happy evenings cursing my name around the fire."

Maggie nods to herself. She thinks about the big cold world out there, and the warm little world in here. The thousands of miles between her and the finish line. "Would you," she says... "would you swap?"

"Swap what?"

"Swap with them. Let them have the race, if it meant you could have the marriage."

He doesn't say anything. Maggie feels the little world in here become a fraction colder. "Well?" she prods. "It's a simple enough question, Leslie. Your dream bride -- or, let's say, your best of both worlds -- in exchange for the race. Which do you prefer?"

"I don't see why I would sacrifice the crowning achievement of my career just to get married."

"That's what women are supposed to do, though. Give up our names, our friends, any interests we might have outside of our husbands. There's always a sacrifice to be made by someone, if you want it to be simple. How else do you think Max and the professor have lasted so long together?"

"I flatter myself that I have a bit more to lose than the average unmarried woman," Leslie scoffs, "or Max, for that matter."

Maggie shrugs. "'Everything you have' is always a big deal, even when you don't have very much. Whatever little Max had, he threw it all away for the professor. I'm just asking you if you'd do the same."

"I wish you wouldn't always spoil the moment by making it political."

"It's political for me whether I like it or not. I'm only spreading it around."

Leslie sighs. "Alright. You win. No, obviously, I wouldn't give up the race to get married. Are you happy now?"

"I knew it," Maggie crows, though she doesn't feel very triumphant.

"I can't help it. I'm a man," Leslie says. "I have a good career and a certain amount of celebrity, which didn't happen overnight, you know. All this has taken me years to build. I would never throw it away to become someone's anonymous husband."

Maggie closes her eyes. She pictures herself in that white sweater again, Leslie's loyal wife and assistant, his best of both worlds, push the button Maggie. _Good,_ she tells herself, _it's good that this will never come to pass. He wouldn't do it for me, so why should I do it for him?_

_He chooses the race. Just like I've chosen my career over every man who's ever wanted to marry me. He chooses the race._

A few yards away in the Hannibal Twin-8, its twin engines snore in each other's arms. Max dreams about his master, who dreams about his rival, who dreams about the race.

And when Maggie sleeps she dreams about all of them, chasing each other around like this forever. The dream isn't clear where she fits; sometimes she's beating them all and sometimes she's left in the dust, or taking photographs from the sidelines, or hanging off Leslie's ankle, serving the beans, saving the Fates from themselves.

Sometimes she's not there at all, and the men go on chasing each other around, and they never seem to miss her.

_He chooses the race._

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a sad ending! It's just pre-heartwarming for when he chooses her after all!!!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed ♥ Let me know if you'd like me to write more about this movie/have any requests!!! I love them so much I just don't want to be alone hhghghgh


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